A Small Token
by DebbieB
Summary: A LuNacy romance. Tracy wakes up bound and gagged...again. Luke comes up with a unique plan to win Wife Number Two's affection.


She woke to find herself in what had become, unfortunately, a very familiar situation. Tracy Quartermaine was blindfolded, bound to the chair in which she was seated, with a handkerchief gag tied in her mouth.

This was really getting old.

In the past two years, she'd been tied up, gagged, and stuffed somewhere no less than four times, with this being the fifth. First, Luke had kidnapped her on _The Haunted Star_ to use as bait for Helena Cassadine. Then that goon in Miami had grabbed her, trying to get payback from Luke for a deal gone bad. Then her own _son_ had tied her up in the basement with Robert Scorpio. And the less said about Alice stuffing her in a closet at Luke and Laura's 25th Anniversary Nightmare, the better.

It was _really_ getting old.

She knew in her heart that her current predicament had something to do with Luke Spencer. Everything psychotic, embarrassing, and annoying in her life these days seemed to find its way back to Luke Spencer. Tracy tugged at the bonds which held her wrists in place. Secure. She kicked her feet, only to discover her ankles were bound as well.

Lovely.

She drew in a deep breath, knowing it would probably do no good at all, and screamed at the top of her lungs through the gag. She couldn't keep it up forever, as it did tend to take her breath away. But it should be enough to get Luke's…_her captor's_ attention. She wanted to know what was going on, and how much it was going to cost her to be back home with a martini in her hand and the memory of this little game gone from her mind.

Tracy waited for someone to come. After several long moments, she screamed again, rattling the chair fiercely with the force of her body. Then she waited again.

Nothing.

A shiver of fear made its way up her spine. Nothing serious. There was nothing in the world Tracy Quartermaine couldn't handle, even a real kidnapping. But in her gut, she knew this was Luke's doing. It had Luke written all over it.

Didn't it?

She drew in as deep a breath as she could through her nose. Closing her eyes behind the soft fabric of the blindfold, she counted to ten, breathing as deeply as she could to calm herself. There was no good ever to come of panic. After ten more breaths, she nodded slightly and tested the bonds on her hands and feet again.

Very secure.

On a hunch, she wiggled her bottom slightly to see if the chair she was in rolled. To her amazement, it did.

Tracy began to laugh. She wasn't sure why it was so funny that she was tied to another wheelchair, but it just struck her as hilarious.

"Glad to find you in such high spirits, Wife," a voice from behind her said.

"LUKE SPENCER," she screamed through the gag. It came out more like 'Wooofpennnfuhh," but it got the point across. She rattled the chair again with every bit of strength she had, just so he knew she was _not_ amused.

"Now, now, my Pretty Pink Peppermint Popsicle." She could feel Luke's hands on her shoulders, the warmth of his breath as he leaned over to kiss the top of her head. "Is that any way to act on a day like today?"

"UNTIE ME," she screamed into the gag. Again, it was muffled, but she felt pretty confident her soon-to-be late-husband was able to get her drift.

Again his hands on her shoulders—squeezing, massaging, his thumbs playing against the tight muscles in her neck. She responded against her will. It felt delicious, and Tracy felt herself leaning back into his hands to increase the contact. Catching herself, she made a big show of pulling away from his touch, only to be stopped by the bonds.

Luke removed his hands, gently taking off her gag only. "Now, Wife, that's no way to behave. Here I am, with this wonderful surprise for you, and you're being cranky." He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Luke, I don't know what you're scheming, but I suggest you untie me before I have you carted off to the PCPD for wrongful imprisonment and assault."

"Oooh, I love it when you talk cop at me, Spanky," he said, putting his hands back on her shoulder and resuming his massage. As he continued to speak, he worked his hands between her body and the chair, using the palms of his hands to knead the muscles in her upper and lower back. "Really, Sugar Plum, I'm hurt. Don't you know what today is?"

Tracy took a deep breath. She didn't want to admit that his hands felt incredible, that she wanted to be free of those bonds so that he could do more to her than massage. "Let's see," she said, struggling to keep the moans inside as he worked her lower back with his strong hands. "I wake up tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged by my own husband." She gasped as he worked a particularly stiff muscle, then covered the embarrassing moan of pleasure with a sarcastic, biting tone. "Gee, how could I forget? It's Valentine's Day, and me without my Hallmark Card."

"No, my darling Tigress," Luke murmured, sliding his arms around from behind to hug her. His hands eased under the folds of her robe, palms flat on her belly, caressing her gently through the thin fabric of her nightgown. "National Subsidize the Candy and Floral Industries Day was months ago. Think again."

She couldn't think straight. His hand on her stomach was having the oddest effect, calming, arousing, sweet and safe. Tracy shook herself, angry at her response to his touch. "What am I? A cocker spaniel? You think you can rub my belly, and I'll just roll over on my back and forgive you?"

"What a tantalizing image you present, my wife! You rolling over on your back? Rowrrr…" He placed a lingering kiss on her ear, and this time her moan was unavoidable. "Good thinking, Tracy," he whispered in her ear, his hot breath driving her crazy. "Now, sweetheart, I'm going to untie you, and I want you to be a good girl and not go for your blindfold. Do you promise?"

She nodded, grateful to his have his hands otherwise occupied. It would give her time to regroup, time to get control of her senses back. Even though they had been working on getting their marriage right after the whole Laura fiasco at Thanksgiving, neither had broached the subject of sex yet. As Tracy was tragically incapable of marital infidelity, it had been a very, very long, celibate two years for her. And his touch wasn't helping.

Luke quickly removed the ties from her ankles, kneeling between her legs in a most distracting way. She could think of so many ways she could turn this position to her advantage, but Tracy forced herself not to go there. She was angry at him, she reminded herself. He was Luke Spencer. He was definitely scheming, and this—sexual torment— was all part of his plan to set her up.

He worked his way up to her left wrist and began to untie. "Remember, Spankybuns, no peeking. You'll ruin everything if you do."

The minute he had her wrist untied, she made her move, lurching her body upward to push him off, to grab for her other wrist and make her getaway.

But Luke had been prepared for her. Laughing, he covered her body with his own, pinning her to the chair in the most disconcerting way as he slowly untied her right wrist. "Perfect," he said with genuine affection in his voice. "Spanky, I knew I could count on you to do just that." His lips were on hers, and in spite her anger and confusion, she was pleased with the admiration she could hear from him. When her right wrist was free, he was still against her, and the only place she had to move her hands was to wrap them around his shoulders.

Luke kissed her, pulling her to her feet. In spite of her anger, Tracy felt herself melting into that kiss, her arms moving of their own accord to close around his shoulders, her knees weak with the combination of desire and dizziness. She'd been in that chair much longer than she thought, and her muscles were stiff. She held on to Luke as much for support as for desire.

When the kiss finally ended, leaving her breathless and disoriented, Luke pulled her against him, holding her gently. "Now, Wife, that's the way to say good morning. Can you stand all right?"

She nodded, silent, not wanting just yet to let go of him. He held her arms pinned against him, keeping her from going for the blindfold. She was a little unsteady on her feet. "What is all this," she whispered.

"An anniversary of sorts, my beautiful bride." Careful not to upset her hard-earned balance, he turned her away from him, so that her back was against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, folding her arms across her chest as he leaned against her. "You really don't remember what today is, do you, sweetheart?"

She shook her head, no. She could feel his heart beating in his chest, and relaxed against the pulse. Her anger was going away, just as it always did with Luke. It's why he got away with murder. It's why he always got away with it, whatever _it_ was. She couldn't get past how amazing it felt in his arms, how safe and fragile and sweet she felt in his embrace.

"Two years ago, my lovely," he whispered into her hair. "A certain rogue named Luke Spencer slipped a mickey into the drink of a lovely society dame named Tracy Quartermaine." He kissed the rim of her ear, his words tickling the sensitive flesh as he continued to speak. "On this very day, our reckless journey into connubial bliss had its ultimate beginning." His hands were on her breasts, cupping them gently as he spoke. "You were in your chair, right there in front of the roulette wheel," he continued, playing with the hard tips of her nipples through the fabric of her gown. "It was paradise, from the start."

"We're on _The Haunted Star_," she whispered, trying to shift her thoughts from his fingertips driving her crazy.

"We are, Mrs. Spencer." His hands trailed up, tickling her collarbone, scraping her jaw with his nails as he moved to remove the blindfold. Tracy blinked, trying to adjust her vision to the odd lighting.

He'd turned off every light in the casino. It would have been pitch black, if not for the thousands of tiny colored holiday lights, strung everywhere, turning the room into a delightful twinkling fairyland. There were vases of roses on each table, a dozen each, in every imaginable color.

"Pretty," she whispered, still wrapped in his arms, still leaning back against him.

"Happy anniversary, Tracy," he said, turning her to face him. Luke himself was dressed in a tuxedo, his crazy hair the only sign of her scruffy husband beneath the polished couture. "This is where it all began, two years ago today."

She struggled to look nonchalant, to feel the corresponding lack of enthusiasm. But all she could think about was how beautiful he looked, how wonderful it felt to have him do all this. "I suppose that Helena Cassadine is going to show up in a few minutes, brandishing a gun?"

"Um, no," he laughed. "Mrs. Satan has not been invited to this little tete-a-tete." He lifted her chin slightly, so that she was looking up into his eyes. "By the way, as I recall, you offered to help her hide the body when you thought I was dead."

"I was just an innocent bystander," she said, wide-eyed, playing the innocent. "Not a widow."

"So, can I take it that you might actually _mourn_ if I got shot this time around?"

"Don't get shot," she whispered, more fervently than she wanted to. It was a fear that lurked just below her surface, every time Luke disappeared, every time he got caught up in yet another less-than-savory scheme. She kept waiting for his return, worrying that she might get a call that she never wanted to take, with news she no longer thought herself capable of hearing. She leaned up, kissing him softly on the lips. "Don't get shot, Husband, and I won't have to mourn."

"Got it," he whispered back, his eyes closing as he brought her into a deeper kiss. "Note to self. Don't make Mrs. Spencer a widow. Got it." He kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Good." She leaned her cheek against his chest, reveling in his warmth. This was going to be the night, she realized. This was going to be it.

Her breathing grew rapid, and she pulled away. No good ever came of panic, she told herself uselessly. "So, is this my surprise? A few strands of Wal-Mart holiday lights at a casino I already own?"

"Actually, I thought you might want to take a little spin on the roulette wheel."

"Luke Spencer, if you think I'm going to have sex with you on a roulette wheel…" She felt the blush form around her neck when Luke began to chuckle.

"Actually, I was suggesting you _spin_ the wheel, but your plan does have merit."

"Be quiet," she scolded, covering her embarrassment with scorn as she headed for the roulette wheel.

"Actually, the craps table would probably be more comfortable, my Tantalizing Little Tigress..." he teased, reaching for her ass. She used her arms to knock away his hands, maneuvering the roulette table between them when she finally turned around.

"Shut up, and give me the damned ball." When he teased her with it, she growled slightly and grabbed it from him, spinning the wheel and dropping it in. She was about to call it, when Luke silenced her.

"Every roll's a win for you, Wife," he said. He pointed to the table, and she could see that he'd placed little white cards on every single one of the numbers. "Black 17."

Curious, she reached over and picked up the card on Black 17. Turning it over, she read the print on the back. "Luke gives Tracy a sensuous foot massage." Staring at him, she held up the card. "Huh?"

"Roll again, Wife," he said, taking the card from her and handing her the ball. "Every roll's a win."

She spun the wheel again and dropped the ball. "Red 3." She picked up the card and read it. The blush formed at the base of her neck and had covered her entire face and ears by the time she'd finished reading what he intended to do to her, should she redeem the card.

Luke took the card from her, read it, and grinned wickedly. "Red 3. Definitely one of my favorites. Roll again."

"What's this about?"

"Our anniversary celebration. Roll."

She spun the wheel again, dropping the ball. "Black 7." Taking the card, she could barely hold it as she turned it over to read. "Luke kisses every inch of Tracy's body." Her breath was coming hard now, and she found it difficult to breathe. "I need a drink."

"I have champagne chilling in the bedroom," he said, taking the card from her hand. Before she could respond, he had gathered up all the cards, straightening them up and tucking them under the three he held. "Actually, I have a full breakfast waiting for you in the bedroom, if you're hungry."

She found she was starving, for food, for drink, for sex. "I'm hungry," she whispered, and shivered as he took her hand, kissed it, and led her to the bedroom for their anniversary celebration.

She woke hours later in what she hoped would become a familiar situation. Naked except for the thin blanket that covered them, Tracy lay with her head resting against her husband's chest, his arms around her, his long and incredibly talented fingers trailing across her shoulders lazily. She yawned, suddenly aware that her hair was a mess, that she probably needed to brush her teeth, all those stupid things she noticed when she slept with someone she cared about. Tracy smiled shyly, unsure what to say to him. The cards lay scattered across the nightstand. They'd pulled them randomly through the day, each card garnering blushes and laughs and more arousal than she'd felt in years.

Tracy couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good. If she was honest with herself, she couldn't remember if she'd ever felt this good—definitely not with a man she'd ever been married to. "Luke Spencer," she whispered.

"Mrs. Spencer," he whispered back.

The sun was going down, rose-colored through the port hole in his bedroom. It cast a beautiful glow on his face and hair, and Tracy couldn't stop staring at him. "I always suspected you'd be good in bed," she yawned. "But you…"

"You were amazing," he finished for her, rubbing her arm lazily. She knew he wanted to do more, but they'd sort of worn each other out. They had worked their bodies harder than she suspected either had done in years, testing resolve, pushing limits, challenging each other physically and sensually and emotionally throughout the day. "I didn't know that last one was even possible…"

"I think we proved that old wives' tale false, didn't we?" she chuckled, burrowing deeper into his arms. "Mine."

"Yours." With a kiss to her forehead, he looked into her eyes. "Mine?"

She leaned up to kiss him. "Yours," she whispered, meaning it. "Yours."

"Mine." His arms tightened around her, wrapping her in a safe place, a warm place.

Tracy felt herself dozing again. She wanted to talk to him, to work out the details. Would they move into a single room at the mansion? Would they get their own place? She felt girly and silly and clinging, wanting to get the new paradigm of their relationship worked out. Sex changed everything. Sex made it real in a way it had never been real before. "Mine," she whispered, knowing that she might not be able to keep him faithful, knowing that while it would hurt her to the core should it happen, she would find a way to make this marriage work with him, even if he fell. She wanted it too fiercely, now more than ever. This wasn't like Paul. She hadn't begged. This wasn't like Mitch. She hadn't connived him into bed.

He'd come on his own. He'd seduced her. He'd made love to her, not out of obligation, but out of desire. It hadn't been a quick, obligatory roll in the sack. It had been long and languorous, drawn out and creative and diverse. He'd cherished her body, engaged her mind, claimed her heart.

It was like having an affair with her own husband. "We need to talk," she yawned.

"We'll work it out, Spanky," he whispered, smoothing her hair. "All those details. We'll work them out."

"I want to know," she sighed as she snuggled against him. Sleep was coming on fast. It was too early to sleep, but she couldn't help herself. "I want to figure it out…"

"We'll figure it out tomorrow, baby," he crooned in her ear, whispering her to sleep. "I love you."

"I love you, Luke," she murmured. It was the last thing on her lips before sleep overtook her. It would be the first thing on her mind when she woke the next morning.

It would be the most important thing in her life, she knew as she dreamed pretty pink peppermint dreams, the most important thing in her life, for as long as she lived.

She'd found her Prince Charming.

The End


End file.
